Wild Pitch Read Online Free PDF Page A

the safe sign.
    Tip glared at Eddie. “Dummy, why’d you tell him to throw to second? He was too far away from it!”
    Eddie shook his head, aware now he should have kept his mouth shut. “I thought he had time,” he said lamely.
    “Sure you did,” grumbled Tip.
    Eddie read the sarcasm in Tip’s voice and tried to ignore it. Sometimes it wasn’t hard to irk the burly catcher, especially
     when he felt he was right on an important play.
    Eddie caught the soft throw from Paul, took a look at the men on first and second, and stepped on the mound.
    Tip signaled for a curve and gave him a target on the inside of the plate. Eddie threw it. The ball headed toward the inside
     corner and dipped in. The batter swung. Missed.
    “Strike one!” snapped the ump.
    Tip gave him the two-finger sign again. Eddie nodded, stretched, and pitched. The ball headed for the middle of the plate.
     Just as it dipped toward the outside corner, the batter swung. The fat part of thebat connected with the ball and sent it flying toward short right field.
    Eddie watched it drop on the grass, a sick feeling coming to his stomach. The hit was going to knock in one run at least,
     he thought.
    Right fielder Tony Netro bolted after it, grabbed it on the second hop, and pegged it home. The runner on second made the
     turn at third and was a quarter of the way home when Tip caught the ball.
    He probably decided he couldn’t make it, because he hightailed it back, diving under Tip’s throw to third. He was safe.
    Larry carried the ball halfway over to Eddie then tossed it the other half.
    “Watch for a squeeze, Larry,” Eddie cautioned.
    Eddie watched a tall, well-built cleanup hitter come to the plate, and glanced at the batter stepping into the on-deck circle.
     It was Monahan.
    For a second their eyes met, and he looked away, staring at the grass as he headed back toward the mound. He was sure she
     recognized him and Tip as the guys who had caused her to lose her balance on her bicycle that day last week.
    Tip called time and trotted in toward him. They met in front of the mound.
    “What do you want to do?” Tip asked.
    Eddie frowned. “What do you mean?”
    “I think he’ll try to squeeze in a run.”
    “Shall I keep them high?”
    “Yeah. But not too high. I don’t want to be jumping for them.”
    Eddie smiled. “You won’t.”
    Tip returned to his position. The ump called time in. Eddie walked onto the mound and set his left foot on the rubber. His
     first pitch was even with the batter’s face. The batter tried a bunt and ticked it.
    “Strike!” said the ump.
    Eddie placed the next pitch high and inside. The batter swerved to avoid being hit.
    “Ball!” said the ump.
    “In there, Eddie,” Tip encouraged him. “In there, boy.”
    Eddie grooved the next pitch. He hadn’t intended to; it just happened that way.
    The batter bunted. The ball dropped in front of the plate and rolled toward the pitcher’s mound. Eddie sped after it, aware
     that the runner on third was blazing for home. He reached the ball, scooped it up, and tossed it underhand to Tip.
    “Ouuuut!” yelled the ump as Tip tagged the sliding runner.
    Cheers exploded from the Lancer fans.
    “Nice play, Eddie!”
    “Way to go, Eddie, boy!”
    Tip came toward him, smiling, and tapped the ball into his glove. “Look who’s up.”
    “I know.”
    “Think she’ll bunt?”
    “With one out?” Eddie shrugged.
    He turned and headed back toward the mound.
    “Send it out of the lot, Phyl!” yelled a Surf player from the dugout.
    “Clear the bases, Phyl!” yelled another.
    Eddie took time to size up the situation. There was one out, the bases were loaded, and Phyllis Monahan was up. In a million
     years he wouldn’t have dreamed he’d be in a position like this. Facing a girl batter upset him enough. To be facing her with
     the bases loaded multiplied his anxiety tenfold.
    Suppose — just
suppose —
that she got a lucky hit off him? One, or two, or even three